Safe and Sound
by Black Blood of the Red Rose
Summary: England didn't have long before Canada could prevent him from getting drunk... again... But, by damn he was going to savoir every moment of those precious minutes and the memories that inevitably came with it.


_**Warning: Language, Adult themes, violence (all of this is mild)**_

_**Pairings: None**_

_**Beta: None**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia-Axis Powers**_

**x~x~x~X~x~x~x**

England used a hand to rub his left temple, and used his other hand to bring the small glass of Brandy to his lips. Taking a large swig of the alcohol, he savored the burning sensation in his throat and nose and the numb buzz in his mind that steadily grew stronger. He knew that he could only have this time to himself for a short while as Canada would always interrupt his attempt to get drunk. Just when he almost achieved his goal, too._  
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With a heavy sigh and shake of his head, he mumbled a bitter, "Fuck me."

Leaning forward in his armchair, England propped his elbows on his knees and rested his fore head on the glass wrapped in his hands, the cool crystal a stark contrast to his warm forehead. He almost wished that his rising temperature wasn't a side affect of the alcohol, but then again sitting near the burning fire place wasn't doing much good either. Unfortunately for his system, the large part of his mind enjoyed the heat, reminding him of his pirate days or glory days as he often thought of them. Back then there wasn't any of this independence nonsense.

The days were always bright and hot, a huge jump from the endless days of rain in his home country, but the spray of the sea did help cool him and the crew off a bit. When they were graced with rain, often times it would quickly evolve into a roaring storm. Though his crew may have loathed the harsh, dark weather, Arthur loved it. He loved the adrenaline pounding through his veins as steered the ship and fought against Mother Nature. He love the heavy feeling of his soaked clothes weigh down his body, the pistol and sword always strapped to his side only adding to the weight. He loved the rumble in his throat as he shouted commands to the crew over the cracks of thunder and rolls of thunder. He loved the feeling of his hair being soaked and plastered to his head, the blonde locks tickling his ear when they brushed the single gold ring in his left ear.

God, he could keep going for hours on end about the thrill of the experience; not just his time fighting through a storm, but also the times when he raided ships, gambled at pubs where he would later meet a gorgeous woman to bed, beat up that stupid frog and Spanish bastard, mended torn sails, skillfully played the fiddle as his shipmates danced around the deck and drank rum.

Unfortunately for the Brit, memories of the Golden Days inevitably brought memories of his little brother.

He threw back his head downed the rest of the Brandy. He reached for neck of bottle to refill his glass, but thought better and took another swig from the bottle itself, abandoning the glass all together. Smacking his lips as he pulled the bottle away from his lips, he felt a small hiccup escape him and he rubbed the base of his throat where he felt the spasm form.

Before returning to his hunch, he examined the liquor bottle. It was about half full, not nearly enough to get him through this memory.

"Shit."

England's pirate days lasted from the late 1600's to the early 1700's. Of course that meant that America would be waiting for him at home while he was off. It wasn't until just recently did he realize that America's absence of a father-like figure would only fuel his decision to become independent. It wasn't only until this moment did England realize that being an irresponsible brother must have been genetic. He bitterly laughed at this thought, wondering if the trait would somehow pass on to America. Of course it wouldn't be passed on to what's-his-half-french- face, he was probably the most protective and brotherly out of the two twins.

England recalled the time he had mind-traveled to his home in the colony from his ship once, a sudden feeling of homesickness compelling him.

He first noticed the wailing. A high pitched, blood-curdling, heart-wrenching, shrill as a banshee wailing repeating one word over and over. "**DAD!**"

America's and Canada's small eight-year old bodies were pulled close together underneath the dining room table, their hands and legs interlocked with each other. Both had tears streaming down their faces like a waterfall cascading over a cliff, mixing together where their flushed cheeks were pressed together. Tears surged from their eyes at a greater rate and their cries fluctuated after every gunshot and holler echoing from somewhere outside the cabin. They huddled even closer together when the faint glow of fire dancing through the windows flared for a moment, casting an eerie red and orange glow into the otherwise pitch black room.

"**D-DAD!**" America bawled, screaming up towards the sky as he was pleading help from God rather than England. "Come ba-a-ck! Where are **you**? Help!"

Through hiccups and sniffles, Canada gently calmed down his brother, looking him dead in the eyes. "W-Wait, America... Should-n't we stay q-quiet? T-The ba-d men will leave if we hide and s-tay quiet... That's what **Papa **told me."

_Papa_ as in France. Not _Dad_ as in England.

"But, **Dad** s-said not to lis-ten to anything **France** s-says-"

"**He** isn't here now!" America flinched and leaned away from Canada, surprised by his powerful reaction. "**England's** never here! **P-Papa's** right, **England **doesn't care about us-"**  
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"**Dad** said-" America began to defend, but was cut off.

"S-Shut up about **him**! **Dad dad dad daddaddaddaddad** that's all yo-u ever talk about!" The two had released each other and scooted apart, shooting daggers at each other.

"Well all you ever talk about is **France**-"

"Shut up! Why can't you just see that **he** _abandoned_ us?! **England** left us! ... **H-he** left m-e just like ev-ery-y-ybody else.." America's face fell when Canada broke down into a gross sob, covering his face and curling into himself.

Not baring to see his twin in such a state, America pulled him into a tight comforting hug. "H-Hey... I won't leave you... I'll be here with you and **England** forever, o-okay?"

Canada accepted his brother's comfort and sheepishly nodded. "Promise?"

"Promise. Hey, I'll even listen to you and be quiet..."

England chugged down the bottle of alcohol as fast as he could, the dark brown liquid running from the edge of his mouth and down his chin. With one breath he chugged and chugged and chugged until his coughing forced him to stop, causing him to use his free hand to pinch and stop the burning liquid from entering his nose.

Feeling the alcohol take over him, his blood began to boil. Abruptly standing to his feet, he threw the bottle of Brandy into the fireplace, causing shards and flames to erupt from the hearth. "YOU BLOODY HYPOCRITE! YOU LEFT ME AND YOUR BROTHER!"

England continued to scream his lungs out even as Canada came up from behind him and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him away from the raging fire and whispering calming words into his ear. "You're drunk, **England**. Calm down, just back away. Le'ts go to bed, it's late. Come on,** England**-"

_Englandenglandenglandengland. Not Daddaddaddaddaddaddad-_

"YOU BLOODY HYPROCRITE! IF YOU LOVED THEM SO MUCH THEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE?! WHY DAMN IT! WHY?!**"**

**x~x~x~X~x~x~x**

**_So... this is just something I spewed out at three o'clock in the morning a couple nights ago, but I'm proud of it none-the-lesss. Also, I do know that this fic is historically inaccurate (France didn't give up Canada until the end of the of the French and Indian War; ergo, Canada wouldn't have been with England during the time of his pirate years), just roll with it dudes._**

**_Inspo. song: "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars._**

**_Hope you guys enjoyed it and will leave a review or provide some constructive criticism._**


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